


Soldiers or Children?

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parenting, Brotherhood AU, Gen, Kid Winchesters (Supernatural), Parent John Winchester, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Brotherhood AU. Parents often fight to protect their children. Mackland Ames and John Winchester disagree on the method. (Prior to "The Password" By Tidia)
Series: Suitcase of Memories [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Kudos: 6





	Soldiers or Children?

-  
 _1987  
Albany, NY_

Mackland Ames stared at the man in front of him and tried not to let his mouth fall open. "I'm sorry… could you repeat that? I think you just told me that you plan on leaving your eight-year-old child alone in a motel room to watch over his four-year-old brother while you go on a hunt!"

John Winchester was a truly imposing sight. He had his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his jaw twitching in contained anger. Mac often wondered what would happen if the newly appointed Knight finally released his rage… he feared the outcome, especially since he'd met the boys.

"I'm telling you again, Mac, stay out of it! This is my family." John practically growled at him. He stood protectively in front of his children. Dean was sitting on the furthest bed away from the motel room door, his arms wrapped protectively around his squirming little brother; it was the bed the two children shared.

Mac noticed Dean's reaction and forced himself to calm down. He didn't want to scare the boys. He took in a deep breath and put out his hands. Slowly, he put his hand on John's wrist. "John… listen. There's no need for this. I would be happy to arrange—"

John pulled away from the touch. "No! You're not going to arrange anything. Dean is fully capable of watching Sammy for a couple of days."

Those words made the Scholar's heart freeze. A cold creep rushed through his veins as the implication sunk in. His breath left him in a huff. He spoke in a shocked whisper, "Are you saying that you've left them alone for a couple of days _before_? Do you have any idea what could've happened to them? My God, John. _They're children_ …"

"They are _my_ children, Mackland. And I will raise them the way I deem appropriate. I'm not going to argue with you about it!" John roared, making the boys jump. Sam stopped trying to squirm away from his big brother and instead tried to crawl inside of his skin. Dean just held him tighter.

Dr. Ames refused to back down. "They won't be your children for long if anyone finds out that you've been leaving them alone in an empty motel room for days on end! Do you want them to get taken away from you? Do you want them to get separated? What the hell are you thinking?" Mac shouted back, his usual control slipping as the real-world consequences of John's decisions flooded him with fear.

With those words having been said, Mac suddenly realized exactly what would happen if John's rage boiled over… His body collided against the dresser hard; he could feel the bruises already starting to form from the cornered edges of the furniture dug into his hip. He fought with the crazed man, breaking the hold that he had around his neck with a sharp jab into his solar plexus.

Once he'd gotten back his breath and the stars cleared from his sight, he finally heard the hysterical screams of the toddler in the room. Instantly, both men were ashamed of their actions—especially in front of the children.

They were both still on the ground, recovering when the door flew open and Caleb ducked inside. He threw down the armful of snacks that he'd gotten out of the vending machine outside on the corner table, giving the older men on the ground a harsh glare, then ran over to the bed, completely ignoring the 'adults'.

Caleb, at that moment, seemed older than his sixteen years. He quickly picked up the baby and took the older boy by the hand. He was whispering to them quietly, saying things that only the three of them could hear before announcing quietly that they were going to go to Pastor Jim's farm. Reaves picked up the phone and dialed for a cab. He motioned for Dean to grab their backpacks and led the children out of the room, slamming the door behind them. The teen shook his head at the scene. Even from across the parking lot, he heard the angry shouts of the two men that he considered his heroes. For the first time, he was disappointed in them. They should've known better than to say those things in front of Dean.

Sam, well, he was still too young to understand everything; he'd most likely started crying because the two men he loved were fighting—but, Dean… he'd get nightmares. Losing his little brother was Dean's worst fear come to life. It was something that Caleb understood. The real fear of losing one's family was one that tied both of them together. Dean had lost his mother around the same age that he had lost both of his parents—and his unborn sibling.

Caleb walked them over to the bench by the front office to wait for the cab. He sat down, pulling the two little boys into his lap. He rubbed Sammy's back and hair until his crying slowed to a hiccupping sniffle. "It's okay, Sammy. Everything's okay." He pulled Dean into a light embrace, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest. He began to get worried when Dean just stared out into space, not saying a word.

"You okay, Deuce?" Caleb asked him gently, trying to get the kid snap out of the fog he seemed to be in.

When Dean didn't answer him, Sammy started whimpering again. His eyes filled up and he prepared himself to start crying again. Thankfully, the heavy breathing was enough to jar Dean out of his daze and quickly give Sam the attention he was craving. He held out his arms, and Sam came to him without hesitation, quickly crawling into his lap and snuggling against him. "Sorry, Sammy," Dean said.

The older boy just held them against him as the yellow cab finally pulled up. The car honked its horn impatiently. It was then that Dean finally realized Caleb's intention. His eyes grew wide, "where are we going? Are you going to take us away from daddy?"

Caleb gently extracted his arm away from the boys, then kneeled down in front of them. "We're going to Pastor Jim's. And no, I'm not taking you away from your daddy. We're just going for the weekend. John and Mac will meet us there after they go on their hunt."

Dean lifted his face in defiance, staring into the older boy's eyes to see if he was being lied to. "You promise, Damien?"

"Hey, kid. You want a ride or not?" The cab driver came out of his car and put his hands on his hips. "I ain't got all day."

Caleb refrained from giving the jerk the finger in front of the baby. "Give me a second, dude!" He yelled back at him.

"I promise, Dean… I'm not taking you away from your dad. You'll see him in a couple of days… like you'd planned, except I'll be watching the both of you," Caleb explained.

Sammy spoke up softly, a thumb planted in his mouth. "You're going to babysit?" It was muffled, but understandable.

Reaves rolled his eyes at being called a babysitter but nodded in agreement. It was easier than explaining that their fathers were idiots and needed a cool-down period. "Okay, let's go guys." He picked up their bags and threw them into the trunk of the cab.

It was then that the older men came out of the motel room, guilt and shame clearly read in their expressions.

Mac walked over to the cab driver and held out a Benjamin. "Drive safety, please." He looked the man in the eyes, "You'll stop at every stop sign, every red light from here to the airport…" He dangled the cash in front of the man until he got an appropriate response.

The greasy looking guy snapped up the bill and gave a wide smile. "They'll be safer than a chick with a mother hen. Trust me." He jammed the bill in his front pocket, then opened the door for the boys.

John glared at the show of wealth but refrained from fighting in front of the boys again. He ran his hands through his hair before giving Sammy a hug and patting Dean on the head. "Dean, you look after your brother… make sure he doesn't get into trouble, okay? Caleb's in charge so don't give him a hard time."

Dean nodded, straightening his shoulders before replying, "Yes, sir."

John smiled at the appropriate response. "Now, what's the rule?"

"Shoot first, ask questions later." The little boy said automatically in an almost robotic tone. It had the doctor bristling with anger… he clenched his teeth to keep from yelling at their father.

John continued, "Okay. I'll meet you at Pastor Jim's in a couple of days… Be good." He gave his sons a pointed look, then helped them get settled into the back of the cab.

Caleb walked to sit shotgun next to the driver when his arm was grabbed. "What?"

John wasn't smiling anymore. "Don't give me attitude, kid. The only reason I'm letting you take them is because Mac and I have issues to work through and I don't want them around for it."

The teen huffed at him, "Whatever, man."

"I'm not finished! You're to watch out for the boys, keep them safe." John instructed. Suddenly, the man's eyes grew cold; he gripped the younger boy's arm tight. "Just because you think you're a man now—doesn't give you the right to interfere with my family. If you ever pull this shit again, Junior, I'll have your hide."

Caleb's eyes hardened against the threat. "Yes, sir." He grit out, yanking his arm away from the Knight. "If that's all, we'll be going."

John nodded, then walked back to the motel room—leaving the doctor with his son for a few moments. Mac took in a deep breath, then hugged his son quickly, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Caleb. Thank you for putting them first. I'm ashamed to have forgotten that…"

Caleb gave his dad a cheeky smile. "Yeah, well, you are getting old."

The 'old man' rolled his eyes. "Take care of yourself, son. And take care of them—try to have some fun together… just, let them be kids for a couple of days, son."

"Okay," Caleb nodded. "Dad—listen—I know that you're trying to help, but, they're not like us. John—he's not like _you_. He's just trying to protect them, you know."

Mac licked his lips, "Caleb, he's treating Dean as if he were a soldier. He's only eight—and he knows how to use a gun…"

"I know, Dad. I helped him learn…" Caleb gently told his father. "They aren't safe, Dad. The world isn't safe anymore… even if they knew nothing about the supernatural evil out there, the places that they stay—places like this," Caleb motioned to the dark motel, pointing out the drug dealers and prostitutes that were walking the corner, "aren't safe. John's doing the best that he can. You know that they can't afford to stay in a two hundred dollar a night hotel room, even with all of the credit card scams; he's a hunter—and the job he does doesn't pay. He's protecting all of us—so, maybe you could give the guy a break." Caleb gave his father a smile, "Or at least, try and put yourself in his shoes. What would you do if you were John Winchester?"

His father just stood there with his mouth open. It was the first time that Caleb had ever rendered the older man speechless. He watched the emotions flicker across Mac's face before squeezing his shoulder and climbing into the cab. "Be careful, Dad. And good hunting."

"Thank you. Be safe. Have fun." Mac called out as the car was pulling away from the parking lot. He gave them one last wave before trailing back into the motel room where the Winchester family had resided. Caleb had given him something to consider as he tried to make sense of John Winchester. The man was an enigma. The fact that his son looked up to him still amazed the doctor. John Winchester embodied the terms 'discipline' and 'authority'; things that Caleb shunned and fought against since his parent's death. Additionally, the Knight's obsession with finding his wife's killer was worrisome, to say the least. He truly didn't know what to make of him.

When he walked back into the seedy motel room, John was there…waiting for him. John nodded towards the bed across from where he moved to sit. "We need to talk." The Knight started.

Mac nodded, running a hand across his face before sitting down across from him. "Yes, we do…" He trailed off, then continued when the other man didn't speak, "John, what are you doing?"

"I'm protecting my children," John stated matter-of-factly.

The Scholar stared at him, "I'm trying to understand your logic behind that, John. How are you protecting them by leaving them alone?"

John hit his fist on the night table next to him, "I'm teaching them how to be independent—not to rely on anyone but themselves."

"Dean is only eight years old! He needs to rely on _you_. Doesn't he deserve a childhood? Doesn't he deserve to dream? To play? To not have to constantly worry about taking care of his little brother?" Mac was impassioned, trying to convey his point of view.

John toyed with his wedding band, his voice now dropping. "I would give anything to go back in time—stop that _Thing_ from murdering my Mary… to give Dean back his innocence. To give both of them their mom back, give them a home… but I can't. Now, all I can do is the hunt! To keep this from happening to someone else's family! What do you want me to do, Mac? Hide my head up my ass and pretend it didn't happen? To go back to Lawrence, go back to my garage, and work a nine-to-five job? Pretend that everything is _normal_? Well, it's not. And it'll never be again!"

Mac tried to remain calm; raising his voice would only infuriate the man. "I didn't ask you to pretend. All I want you to do is see that your boys are still children…they need security. And, I don't mean the one that you provide with a shotgun! They need to feel safe, knowing that you're there when they need you."

John arched his eyebrow, "I'm doing the best I can. And you know what? I could give a rat's ass about if I live up to your high standards. I'm not going to raise my sons to be ignorant about the world—the real world, not some fantasy that most people have managed to delude themselves into thinking is real. There's evil out there—and I'm not going to stop until I've killed that son of bitch that murdered my wife!" John's chest heaved as he struggled to contain himself. "I promise you that, Mac."

"I see," Mac said thoughtfully. It was starting to become clear to the doctor that John Winchester had put his obsession with hunting first, and his young family second. "And the boys will hunt with you, is that it? Your plan is to raise them as hunters? To teach Dean how to ' _shoot first and ask questions later'_? Instead of reading Sammy bedtime stories, you'll teach him exorcisms? John, do you really want their lives to revolve around the hunt?"

"It'll only be for a little while…after I hunt it down and kill it, we'll settle down."

Mac countered sharply, "What if you don't? You don't even know what killed her. You haven't found a single trace of it. What if you spend your entire life after it, and never find it?"

John's eyes hardened as did his posture, "I **will** find it!"

"For your children's sake, I hope you do…" Mac let the conversation end. The man was stubborn; there was no getting through to him. And for the sake of their newly formed Triad, they would have to work together, have to trust each other. Just this once, on this point, Mac backed down. As much as it hurt him as a father to see a parent treat their children like small soldiers, they were still _his_ children.

It was hard to let it go…to put it from his mind, however, as he remembered the day he met the silent four-year-old and his baby brother.

Caleb sat on the couch watching television. He was just getting over a truly horrible case of the flu—and he was milking it for all it was worth. It wasn't often that he was allowed to sit and watch television for more than an hour. Thankfully, his father, the doctor, recommended that he get plenty of rest. He'd ignored Mac's initial recommendation in order to practice for the karate tournament and ended up falling flat on his face. The Martial Art Masters had called his father and Mac had immediately put him on bed rest, leaving him with nothing to do but watch television.

Mac had called into his offices and told them that he was going to stay home with his bedridden son. So, for once, it was quiet, only the sounds of Caleb's residual sniffling and coughing and Mac flipping pages of a book in the air. The television was on low, a background noise—there was only so much daytime television a guy could take.

It was just one of those lazy afternoons, one that many people take for granted. But for the Ames family, it didn't happen often enough for them to let a moment slip them by. It was nice to just—spend the day together relaxing.

"What're you watching?" Mac asked halfheartedly as he sat down next to the boy and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Three's Company." Caleb leaned into the embrace—for a short time he would stop fighting the urge to be grown up and 'cool'. He felt like shit and was tired. "It's an old episode—it's the same stuff over and over. Jack tries to go on a date; everyone thinks he's gay…Chrissy acts like an idiot." He sighed lazily, "There's _nothing_ else to watch."

The older man laughed lightly, "All of these channels and still nothing to watch?" They both sat in comfortable silence, every once in while laughing at an inane comment made by the bubbly blonde.

They were both starting to doze off when there was a knock on the door. Caleb jerked in surprise. "Are you expecting someone?"

Mac shook his head, "No." He pulled his arm away from his son's back, then shook it frantically, trying to get the feeling back. "I'll get it."

The doctor wasn't sure who was going to be behind the door, but it definitely wasn't a door-to-door salesman. He pulled back slightly, looking up at the built man. Immediately, he would've pegged him for a hunter—if it weren't for the crying baby he was holding in his arms. The man's face was haggard as if he hadn't slept for days. There was a slightly dangerous look about him as well. One that left Mac cautious. "May I help you?"

"I hope so." The man spoke, his voice is gruff and slightly nasal. "My name is John Winchester. These are my sons, Sammy and Dean." Mac forced himself to look for the second child and was surprised to see a pair of shiny green eyes stare up at him from behind a muscular thigh. "Pastor Jim sent us. He said that you could help us."

Mac opened the door wider, motioning for the family to come inside. "Please, come in."

He led them towards the living room. "I'm Mackland Ames, but please, call me Mac."

"Dad?" Caleb called out hoarsely, "Who's at the door?"

"We have company, Caleb." Mac walked in view of his son, the small family trailing behind him uncomfortably. The baby hadn't stopped crying…his wails shattered the earlier quiet.

Caleb automatically swept the tissue covered coffee table clean into the small trash bin that had been beside him. The boy opened his mouth, "Who the _he_ —?", then quickly shut it after being glared at by both of the older men. "Hello. Welcome to our home. I'm Caleb. Who are you?" He recited in a monotone voice, rolling his eyes at his father—who was beaming at him for actually repeating the stupid phrase the ' _proper and dignified_ ' way.

Mac started the introductions, "John Winchester, this is my son, Caleb. Caleb this is Mr. Winchester. That's Sam and Dean is the one hiding behind his father. Pastor Jim sent them."

Dr. Ames was by no means raised improper, as he settled his guests down and brought over some tea, milk, and cookies. By this time, the little boy—Dean had taken the baby from his father and was rocking him. Immediately, the baby calmed his crying and nestled into the warm arms that held him.

Caleb sat at his side, staring at the burly man. He was an imposing sight to a teen, Mac guessed. Hell, he thought, he's an imposing sight to anyone. "What can I do for you, Mr. Winchester?"

John rubbed at his jaw for a moment, staring at him, judging his worthiness. A war brewed in his mind; _was it worth trusting this stranger (letting him into his life—his problems), if he could help his son?_

Mac sensed the hesitation. "Why don't we let Caleb take the children into the kitchen? Perhaps they'd like some more cookies?" He gave the little boy a gentle smile.

"No!" John barked. Caleb jumped, reactively flinching at the tone. Mac put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "My kids stay with me."

Dr. Ames quickly assessed the situation in his mind: the man seemed unstable and volatile. "Alright," he placated the man. He looked at his son, "Caleb. Why don't you go to your room?" He would rather his son were out of harm's way if the man were to suddenly become violent.

John seemed to realize the intent and put up a hand. "Wait!" He rubbed his face, "I'm sorry. This wasn't the way I'd intended…" He stared at the teen; the boy looked as if he was ill. "I'm sorry, Caleb—was it? I didn't mean to scare you."

Caleb pulled himself out of his father's personal space—one that he'd been pushed into for protection. "You didn't scare me!" He was insulted by the notion. Caleb Reaves didn't get scared. Of course, the effect was ruined as his voice cracked and gave him an adolescent squeak that he'd prayed to lose as a pre-teen.

Winchester smirked at him, "Yeah, right, kid." The boy looked as if he was going to argue, but a coughing fit stopped him cold.

"Excuse me, Mr. Winchester." Mac nodded to his guests, "I'll be right back. Please, make yourselves at home." The doctor gently pulled his ill son away from the small children and pushed him towards his room.

By then, Caleb had gotten his bearings and started to fight—wanting to stay and hear the stranger's story. Mac patted him on the head and used the common phrase used by parents everywhere… "You can when you're older."

John shot a look at his boys. Sammy, thankfully, was happy with his big brother and remained quiet. Dean—John could tell the boy felt uncomfortable in the new surroundings, around new people. But, of course, he was silent—unable to let himself out of his self imposed shell. It was why he hoped that the doctor would help him.

About ten minutes later, the doctor came back into the living area and found his three guests sitting on the couch. John was feeding the baby his bottle, leaning his head tiredly against the back of the couch, while Dean leaned into his father's arm and stared at his brother as he suckled, nibbling on one of the oatmeal cookies he'd left on the coffee table.

Mac nodded to the family, moving slowly into their field of view. "I'm sorry for the delay. My son has the bad case of influenza… I was just getting him settled." He sat on the chair across from them, waiting.

Sammy must've had his fill of the bottle because he threw it to the ground when he was done. The bottle hit the white carpet and splattered lightly through the opening. Mac forced himself not to wince.

Dean lifted his head and quickly climbed down the couch to get the bottle for his brother and wiped up the mess with a tissue before it set. All without saying one word, or making a single sound.

It was what put Ames' nerves on edge, the lack of noise the family made. Even the baby was silent, he'd expected babbling or even a 'dada', but there was nothing.

When the man spoke suddenly, Ames almost jumped in surprise. "Jim Murphy says that he trusts you with his life. He says that you're a good man—that you help people." His voice was rough, caused by a lack of use.

Mac smiled, "That was kind of him to say." He relaxed his body purposefully, hoping that it would put his guest at ease. "Are you a member of Pastor Jim's church?"

"No," John smiled back slightly, "I was introduced to him by Missouri Mosley." He rubbed a hand across his jaw before staring at his sons for a moment. "I just want you to know that this is hard for me—I'm not the type of man to ask for help. If it weren't for my boys…I wouldn't be here."

"I can understand your reluctance to ask for help, but please, let me assure you…if it's within my power, I would gladly help you and your family," Mac stated softly. "Talk to me. What happened?"

The man looked at his wedding band for a while, before nodding. "My wife… she…was killed. _Something_ killed her in Sammy's nursery. She was…pinned to the ceiling, bleeding, when the fire broke out. The nursery just exploded in flames." As he spoke, the little boy put his hands over his ears and started rocking back and forth, holding his little brother to his chest protectively. John slowed his rocking by putting an arm across his shoulders, "Dean, he saved his little brother. Got him out of the house." He said it with pride, smiling gently at the little boy. "I tried to save Mary, but I couldn't. Since that day, Dean's been quiet. He just—won't talk."

Mac quickly switched into what his son called 'doctor-mode', "Was he examined after the fire? Did he suffer from smoke inhalation? Did he lose consciousness at any point? Anything that would indicate that the lack of speech was caused by physical injury?"

John took in a deep breath, "No, he didn't lose consciousness, but he did inhale a little smoke. He was given oxygen at the scene, then at the hospital treated with a couple of inhalers to open his airway. We just stayed the night—they released all of us the next morning. Dean was given a clean bill of health, physically… I'm ashamed to say, I didn't even notice that he'd stopped talking until after the funeral. I was…in shock." He pulled his arm away from his son as he grew pale, then leaned over, holding his head in his hands.

Mac stood and quickly crossed the distance between the seats. Dean was staring with wide eyes at the scene. "It's okay," Mac said softly. He rested his hand on the shuddering back, trying to comfort the grieving father. "It's not your fault."

"I just…don't know what else to do. I just want my little boy to feel safe again. I want to hear his voice again." John lifted his tear-stained face to the doctor. "Please, help us."

"I'll do my best to help you, John. I promise."

-  
 _1987_  
New Haven, KN  


"Do you remember when you came to me, asking for help—for Dean?" Mac asked John, on the drive to the farmhouse. John's impala practically purred as she entered the highway.

John turned his eyes away from the road to stare at his friend. "Didn't we already have this conversation? Back in Albany?"

Mac faced his friend, indicating for him to keep his eyes on the road first before continuing, "You came to me, crying, upset that Dean was so traumatized that he stopped talking to you. In that moment, you would've done anything to see him smile again, to see him play, or laugh, or just chatter away like he used to. I just—wanted to remind you of that moment, John, before your ideas of 'training' them take away what you had once prayed for."

John huffed, "What are you going on about, Mac?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Mac grit out, "I'm talking about treating them like soldiers—about taking away their childhood. I just—don't want you to regret the choices that you've made ten years from now."

"I'm doing the best that I can, Mac. It's the only way that I know how to protect them." John took the exit that would lead them to the kind Pastor's farm. "I won't regret protecting them. I'm their father."

Mac nodded, "Yes, you're their father. They love you—they always will. Dean would jump off a cliff if you asked him to, John. Dean would know that he shouldn't, but he would do it for you." He let the thought trail off, hoping that the other man would just listen to what he was saying.

John pulled into the front of the farm, parking the car. The engine shut down with barely a protest. He shot a look at the doctor. "If I asked Dean to jump off a cliff, it would be for his own good. He'd understand that and do it without hesitation."

Mac shook his head, "That's what I'm afraid of."

John opened the car door and climbed out. "Get over it, Mac. I know what I'm doing." He walked over the passenger side, waiting until Mac got out. "Listen, Mac. I know we're different. And I know that you don't understand my methods, but DO NOT contradict me in front of the kids. Any of them—yours or mine. Let me be the bastard that I am… let me make my mistakes, we can talk about them until your head explodes—but, don't do it in front of them. Never again—alright?"

Mac arched an eyebrow, "Is this apart of that military mindset that you're starting to instill in my son? The chain of command?"

John stared straight ahead, and answered with a clipped "Yes."

"You're right. I don't understand. But, I agree that we shouldn't disagree in front of the children. So, I'll agree to your terms." Mac put himself in his Brother's field of view. "Don't make me regret this decision, John." Mac walked away but paused before entering the farmhouse. "You know, I think of Dean and Sam as my own, sometimes…just as much as Caleb. I love them and want to protect them too. Let me know if you need any help. I'll always be there for all of you." Mac smiled, "You are my brother, after all."

John walked up behind him, a half-smile gracing his lips. "Yeah, I know. I have to put up with you now. I wonder what Jim would say if he saw us fight earlier."

"Huh. Well, if you think my 'lectures' are bad, you haven't heard one of Pastor Jim's." Both men laughed at that.

Mac walked into the farmhouse, then stopped, heart-in-throat. His eyes widened and he immediately reached for a gun. "Shit." The doctor swore. John was right behind him.

"Caleb! Are you alright? How many?" John demanded as he quickly untied the boy from his bonds.

Mac quickly regained his senses as he gently untied the gag from his son's mouth. Once the boy was free, he gathered him to his chest and hugged him.

"This is consecrated ground, John. How the hell did they get in?" Mac demanded to know as he frantically checked over the trembling boy with his hands, looking for any injury.

John scouted the room, looking for intruders. "Where are the boys, Caleb?" Fear nearly caused him to panic as he didn't find his children.

Caleb, who'd been staring at them trembling—slowly fell to the ground and started non-stop laughing. "Haha ha ha. They're sleeping. In their room." The laughter continued.

Mac tried to comfort his son but found himself pushed away. "My God, John. He's hysterical." He was about to go for the phone to dial for an ambulance, when a sleepy Sammy Winchester climbed down the stairs in his footy pajamas, blinking and yawning. His face was covered with different colors—presumably marker.

When Caleb saw him, he stopped laughing and ran over to the child. Quickly, he picked him up and held him tight.

"Sammy, we need to have a little talk about you listening to your devil of a big brother!" Caleb started. "Next time, when I ask you to untie me—don't go to sleep first! Got that, runt?"

"But, you're the cowboy! Dean says that the Indians tie up the cowboys and scalp them!" Sammy explained as a rational four-year-old.

It was then that Mac noticed the dark brown hair that covered the carpet where Caleb had been tied up. Upon further investigation, the rope that was used to tie up his son was colored jump rope. The puzzle was starting to form in his mind as to what transpired during their hunt.

A few seconds later, Dean came down the stairs looking for his little brother. Dean too was covered in 'war-paint' and was upset that their 'prisoner' had escaped his bonds.

He put his hands on his hips. "How did you get out, Damien?"

Caleb put down the younger of the two, then stepped up as close to the older boy as possible without knocking him down. "I'm never playing 'Cowboys and Indians' with you, EVER AGAIN! Got that? Look at what you did to my hair! Do you know how long it took for me to grow it out!?"

Dean was just as forceful, "You looked like a girl anyway! You needed it cut. You should say 'thank you'."

John took that moment to jump in, his gun still in his hands. He held up the gun but put the safety back on. "Hold up. Dean, did you tie up Caleb?"

Dean looked at his father innocently, "Yeah, but we were just playing. It's not like we _really_ scalped him or anything."

John looked at Mac, then back at Dean. "How do you know about scalping anyway?"

Dean pointed at Caleb, "Caleb let us watch, "The Indian Raiders", Daddy. It was so cool. The Indians scalped the cowboys and stole their stuff…"

Caleb shrunk back as the boy ratted him out. "Deuce! Shut it!"

John bit his lip, "Bed, now! All of you!" He pointed to the stairs. He watched as Caleb picked up the sleeping little boy, and took Dean by the hand and guided them up the stairs, grumbling their 'good-nights'.

Once the children were safely in their own beds, did both of the men stare at each other and start laughing.

"Hahahaha." Mac gasped, "I've been trying to get him to cut his hair for months now! Now, he doesn't have a choice! I should have thought of tying him up!"

John laughed with him, "Children… It was just Cowboys and Indians, Mac. I was—I'm just glad that it was just a game."

Mac smiled, "Me too." He put the gun back in its holster, thankful that they didn't have to use it.

"You know, I think as long as Caleb is in their lives, we won't have to worry about them not having a childhood. Your son—you've done a great job with him. He's…well, I trust him to watch over them, protect them. He treats them like children; gives them something to laugh about. And they love him for it." John swallowed, "I'm thankful that he's in their lives—I'm thankful you are too. I don't know what I would've done without both of you."

Mac patted his friend on the shoulder, wiping at his eyes. "You would've done fine. You are a good father—just don't forget that they're children. Okay?"

As the sounds of laughter from upstairs echoed in the stairwell, John smiled. "I won't."


End file.
